


Too Fast

by songofhell



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley's hopeless, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofhell/pseuds/songofhell
Summary: The Apocalypse has been averted, but now Crowley and Aziraphale have a whole new set of challenges to face. How to avoid the wrath of Heaven and Hell is definitely a very pressing issue that needs their full attention, but an only slightly lesser concern in Crowley's mind is how fast is too fast?





	Too Fast

Crowley wasn’t quite sure how he was feeling as he climbed onto the bus and made his way down the aisle.[1] Relieved that the Apocalypse had been avoided, nervous as to the repercussions, comforted by Aziraphale’s presence behind him, anxious to find out what this would mean for their relationship, hopeful, worried, delighted, sad, free, lost… tired. He felt tired.

He sank down in an available seat as the bus began to move forward, the eyes behind his sunglasses following the angel’s progress as he took the necessary step to pivot and then lower himself in the seat beside the demon. He swallowed thickly, that feeling that something had fundamentally shifted between them becoming even more pronounced. Aziraphale never sat beside him on public transportation before, it was too risky. They could only be outright in their interactions in a very select number of meeting places that they had deemed safe. But none of that mattered anymore. As Crowley had already pointed out, neither of them had a side anymore. They didn’t have to worry about what Heaven and Hell would think. They were already in plenty of trouble, and there was nothing they could do to make things worse.

They didn’t say anything for several minutes. Crowley was pretending to stare straight ahead, but really he was watching Aziraphale, who was turning Agnes’s final prophecy over in his hands, thoughtfully considering it.[2]

“You’re going to tear it,” Crowley eventually commented, the warning sounding more bored than concerned.

“I will not,” Aziraphale protested indignantly. “I am taking the upmost care.”

He grunted noncommittally as he leaned back in his seat and fell silent again. “What do you think it means?” he eventually asked as they merged onto the M40.

“I think it is something we best discuss at your place,” he said decidedly as he slid the small slip of paper into his pocket.

Crowley nodded. Made sense. There were still some things that were best avoided in public, and talking about what could potentially be their ‘get out of jail free card’ with Heaven and Hell was definitely one of them. Still, they had come a long way from where they had been. In times like this, that was always what Crowley tried to focus on.

 _“Perhaps one day we could – I don’t know – go for a picnic,”_ he remembered Aziraphale saying wistfully decades ago. _“Dine at the Ritz.”_

Well, they could do that now. But as always when remembering the progress, Crowley remembered Aziraphale’s next words, after Crowley had again offered him a lift anywhere he pleased – hoping he’d get to take him home. _“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

They had been friends for six thousand years. What constituted too fast at this point? Not that it really mattered. He’d move at whatever pace the angel wished, even if that did mean another six thousand years would pass before Crowley could express his true feelings. Having Aziraphale in his life, that was all that really mattered.

Earlier that day, he’d thought that it was the end for them. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had caused the angel to suddenly hold him at arms’ length, but it wasn’t like it was the first time. It happened sometimes when realizing how close he was to a demon or how much he wasn’t in line with Heaven – Crowley never knew for sure what the cause was, but those were his best guesses – prompted the angel to panic. Those times had never been fun, but they’d also never taken place at the end of the world before. Crowley had thought he’d never see or hear from Aziraphale ever again. Then he had received his call and had felt a burst of hope that had been so quickly and effectively extinguished when he had pulled up in front of the bookshop to find it ablaze.

Crowley took a deep breath, the memory of losing Aziraphale still too much for him, even with the angel seated beside him.

“Is everything alright?” Azirphale asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowned.

Dammit, Crowley hadn’t realized he was being watched. And Aziraphale didn’t even have the advantage of sunglasses. “Yeah, course,” he said quickly with a sharp nod. He paused before he added, “I am sorry about your bookshop, angel.”

He sighed sadly, looking down at his lap. “Yes, well… the world is still intact. I suppose that is the most important thing.”

“Mmm,” he agreed.

“I am sorry about your car. I know it meant a lot to you.”

“I had it from new,” he sighed. “Suppose nothing lasts forever.”

“Except us,” Aziraphale breathed on an exhale.

Crowley turned to look at him. And that was the thing about the Apocalypse – they would outlast everything. And Crowley would never be ready for that, to say goodbye to the world. But what was worse was that angels and demons wouldn’t get to enjoy eternity together – it would be one or the other – and he didn’t want to live for a second in a world that didn’t have Aziraphale in it.

He cleared his throat. “I was worried earlier, when… when I saw your bookshop that…” He broke off with a shaky breath.

Aziraphale’s expression softened and he reached over, encircling Crowley’s hand with his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry to have worried you.”

Crowley’s brain had stopped functioning – entirely zeroed in on the warmth encircling his hand. He swallowed thickly, unable to stop staring at where their hands rested on his lap. “It’s fine,” he muttered distractedly.

“You know, I… I was glad to learn that you didn’t leave the planet. I wouldn’t have been so happy to return without you here.”

He blinked behind his glasses as his gaze slowly slid back up to the angel’s face. “I would never have left without you,” the truth came spilling from his lips before he had a chance to think better of it.

“Well, I…” Aziraphale began, both his expression and his voice overcome with emotion. “I am glad to hear it.”

They didn’t say anything else for the duration of the ride home, but Aziraphale also didn’t remove his hand from Crowley’s, so the silence was just fine.

There was no bus stop by Crowley’s apartment, but the bus dropped them off there, anyway. Crowley descended the steps and then waited for Aziraphale to finish thanking the driver before stepping out onto the curb beside him, wringing his hands slightly nervously.

“Look, if you’re still worried about Heaven’s reaction-” Crowley began, but Aziraphale cut him off.

“No, it’s not that. I just… I’ve never been to your place before.”

 _‘You go too fast for me, Crowley,’_ the words echoed in his head again. “If you don’t want to-”

“No, I do. I _do.”_ Aziraphale nodded, took a deep breath, then motioned ahead of them. “Lead the way, Crowley,” he said firmly.

“Yes, angel,” he said with a small smile as he entered the building and started up the stairs. When they reached his floor, he threw open the door to his loft with a flourish. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

Aziraphale walked inside and Crowley could have sworn that his loft suddenly became warmer, brighter, and all-around more homey.

“What do you think?” he asked, watching for the angel’s reaction, as he shut and locked the door behind them.

“It’s very… modern,” he answered in that polite way of trying to compliment something that was just not his cup of tea.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Typical Aziraphale. He couldn’t wrap his head around anything more recent than the eighteenth century. “Would you like some wine?” he tempted, not that much effort was ever needed to get Aziraphale to share a drink with him – especially not after everything they had just gone through together – but old habits died hard. And he had always enjoyed a good temptation, despite his qualms with Hell.

Aziraphale perked up. “That would be delightful.”

“Have a seat on the sofa, and I’ll bring it right out.” With one more smile in his best friend’s direction, he hurried off to the kitchen, grabbing some glasses and his best bottle of wine.[3]

When he returned to the front room, he found Aziraphale perched on the edge of the sofa, his expression once again nervous. Crowley chose not to comment on it this time as he poured them both a glass. He handed Aziraphale his and then took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. It was only made to seat two people, so it didn’t put a lot of space between them, but Crowley still found himself missing the way Aziraphale’s arm had brushed against his on the bus.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed, relaxing slightly as he took a drink. “This is quite good.”

“Just something I had lying around,” he lied with a casual shrug as he also took a drink.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a time, Crowley wordlessly refilling Aziraphale’s glass whenever it neared empty and then proceeding to do the same with his own.

“So, this prophecy,” Aziraphale eventually brought up. “I think it’s advice on how to avoid the wrath of our respective sides, so to speak.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. At some point, he had discarded his sunglasses on the coffee table, and so his full curiosity was on display as he looked at Aziraphale. “Oh?”

He pulled the prophecy back out of his pocket and read, “’When all is faced and all is done’ – as it is – ‘ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enouff you will be playing with fyre.’” He looked up at Crowley. “How do you imagine your side will punish you?”

He grimaced. “Dunno. Something nasty.”

“And if they wanted to kill you?” he pressed after a slight hesitation.

“Come now, angel, you know the best way to do that. Holy water, of course.” And he wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was exactly what awaited him back in Hell.

He nodded. “Which would have no effect against me. Likewise, the best way to kill an angel would be hellfire, which would have no effect against you.” He gave the demon a meaningful look.

Crowley straightened up slightly, leaning in with interest. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Agnes said that we need to choose our faces wisely. I believe she means each other’s.”

He considered that. The idea did have merit, he had to admit that, but… “You don’t know what the demons will do to you.”

“No, but _Agnes did._ She didn’t have a single incorrect prediction, so if she says that the way out of this mess is by switching faces, then I believe her.”

He frowned, thinking it over carefully. “You’re sure?” he checked.

“Quite,” he said confidently. Not that that was much assurance. He had heard the same confidence in Aziraphale’s voice numerous times throughout the years and it usually led to him having to get the angel out of trouble[4]. But Agnes Nutter’s prophecies had led them to the antichrist and ground zero of the Apocalypse, so maybe there was something to be said for their accuracy.

“Alright, first thing in the morning we’ll switch faces, then,” he decided. “Just don’t damage my suit.”

He nodded with a smile. “You have my word.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled.” He set his glass down on the coffee table with just a tad bit more force than necessary. “More wine.”

They carried on like that for several minutes or hours or somewhere in between, drinking and chatting just like they used to in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“I still just can’t quite believe that it’s all gone,” Aziraphale was saying forlornly.

“Whassat?” Crowley asked, looking up at his companion and sloshing a little wine over the side of the glass he was in the midst of refilling.

“My bookshop,” he sighed.

He nodded sympathetically as he brought his glass to his lips and took a drink. “You’ll rebuild it,” he said confidently. “But this time make it flame – er – inflame… not able to catch fire. And no candles!”

“Isn’t that a little redundant? If it’s fire-proof, why would I need to worry about candles?”

“Precautions! You never know what can happen, angel.” And wasn’t that the truth. The Apocalypse had been averted and there was literally no telling what was in store for the universe next. Heaven and Hell had been working towards this since the beginning… now what? Both sides were definitely going to be rather antsy, and they had made it perfectly clear who they were blaming for it all. “This whole face-swappy thing had better work because if Hell finds out that I’m really you, they’ll… do really nasty things to you. And I already thought you were dead once, I have absolutely no desire to go through that again. I don’t want to live without you,” he admitted, paying far too little attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

The crease between Aziraphale’s eyebrows that had been there while he listened to Crowley ramble softened and a gentle smile turned up the corners of his lips. “I feel the same way about you, my dear.”

For once, Crowley was at a loss for words. He stared at Aziraphale, his mouth slightly agape for several seconds before he managed to shake himself mentally. “Well, you know it’s about more than just our faces. You’re going to have to pretend to be me _convincingly.”_

“Well, I have known you for six thousand years,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can pull off _being_ me.”

“The same could be said of you.”

“Oh, you’ll be easy! I’ll just go on about ineffability and goodness and Gabriel will eat it up.”

“No, I’m afraid Gabriel doesn’t eat,” he muttered as he set his glass down. “And if we’re going to discuss an actual plan, I think we need to sober up.”

Crowley made a face, but reluctantly followed Aziraphale’s lead in flushing the alcohol from his system. “Look, I’ll be fine,” he continued once he was sober. “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

“Well, Agnes seems to think that I will do just fine. And I happen to agree with her.”

“Fine, fine,” he surrendered. “I just hope you give a better performance than you did at Warlock’s birthday.”

“That wasn’t my fault, it was the kids’!” he huffed petulantly. “They kept heckling me, and I’m no good under pressure!”

“Oh, you deserved it,” he argued with a smile. “Anyone with any sense of decency would not have been able to idly sit by and watch that train wreck of a show without trying to liven it up with some good, old-fashioned heckling.”

 Aziraphale sighed. “Are you going to sit there insulting me, or are we going to come up with a plan of action?”

“Don’t know what there is to plan. We swap faces then sit around waiting for Heaven and Hell to come after us.”

“Yes, but where do we sit around?”

Crowley thought about it. “St. James’s Park?” he suggested.

He considered that for a moment and then his face lit up. “We could get ice cream.”

“Sure,” he agreed with a shrug, pretending not to find the angel’s smile infectious.

Aziraphale beamed at him for a minute longer before the smile began to fade. “Crowley… I wonder if you might do me a favor? While you’re wearing my face, that is.”

He frowned curiously. Aziraphale had asked him for many favors throughout the years, but they had always involved a miracle that had been assigned to him by Heaven. Now that that was off the table, there was no telling what he could be asking for. No that there was much chance Crowley would refuse. “What is it?”

“Could you go by my bookshop tomorrow morning? Assess the damage?”

“Course,” he answered immediately. He knew how much the place had always meant to Aziraphale, and he’d do everything he could to help ease the loss. “But… you should know, angel, when I was there… it didn’t look good.”

“No, I know. I’m not expecting anything to be salvageable. I’d just like to know how it all turned out.”

“I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said fervently. “I will leave a little after and meet you in the park. Assuming, of course…”

“That we even make it that far,” Crowley finished the thought for him. He rose to his feet and stretched in a way that the human body was not designed to bend. “I know sleep isn’t especially important to you, but after the past few days and what’s to come-”

“I think we both deserve a good nights’ rest,” he agreed whole-heartedly. He stood, straightening out his jacket as he did so.

“Right,” he nodded, glad that he didn’t have to talk Aziraphale into treating himself with some sleep. While neither of them actually _needed_ sleep, they could both most certainly use it right now. “Er…” He hesitated awkwardly as he realized something rather important about Aziraphale staying over. “I only have one bed. You can take it, though. I can sleep anywhere.” _Ugh,_ look at him being all gentlemanly.

“Thank you…. That is very generous,” Aziraphale said, his tone slightly flat as he avoided looking at Crowley.

“I suppose I should… show you around. Since you will be here by yourself for a time tomorrow.” Anything to get away from this conversation. Because Aziraphale _must_ know what Crowley had actually wanted to suggest, otherwise he wouldn’t suddenly seem so uncomfortable. _Too fast, too fast, too fast._

“Yes, alright,” he nodded.

The awkwardness did dissipate slightly as Crowley gave him the tour of his flat. Aziraphale recognized several of the items that he had collected over the years and now had on display, which led to some much easier conversation, full of memories.

“Really, Crowley, I never knew you had collected so many things over the years,” he was saying as they walked.

Crowley shrugged. “Just the important stuff. Things that remind me of some of the better centuries.” _Of the time we’ve spent together._

“Well, I think it’s wonderful. It’s like taking a trip down memory lane.” He looked around in interest as they entered the room where Crowley’s most prized possessions were held, clearly wondering what memories laid around this corner. “Oh, these plants are absolutely gorgeous!”

“Shhh!” he shushed him frantically. He shot a quelling glare around the room at said plants before turning back to Aziraphale sternly. “You can’t talk like that around them!” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale frowned. “But they are lov-”

He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into his office, carefully stepping over the puddle of liquefied demon in the doorway. “They are not ‘lovely,’” he hissed. “They are the most lustrous plants in all of London, and they did _not_ get that way through coddling.”

“Then how did they get that way?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Fear. All of those plants out there know what’s coming to them if they start wilting.”

“And what exactly _is_ coming to them?”

“The garbage disposal,” he answered with a cruel smile.

He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And how exactly do they fit into the garbage disposal, Crowley?”

“Are you really questioning my ability to put a plant through a garbage disposal, angel?” he demanded incredulously.[5]

“It’s not your ability that I’m questioning, Crowley,” he corrected.

“Oh, alright, alright,” he relented with a glare. “I’ll _sometimes_ run the garbage disposal for a minute, then go plant the thing in the park. It’s still a punishment, though! They will never thrive as well as they could with my care.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said with a satisfied smile.

“And you had better not repeat any of this in front of those plants,” he said sternly. “It will ruin all the hard work I put into them!”

He held his hands up in surrender. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good.”

“Now, would you mind telling me what exactly _that_ is?” Aziraphale asked slightly apprehensively, eyeing the demon puddle by the door.

“Oh, that’s Ligur,” Crowley said off-handedly. “Or at least, it was before a bucket of holy water landed on his head.”

His wide-eyed gaze turned back to him. “Hell is quite put out with you, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit, yeah.”

He looked down the remains of Ligur, his expression pensive. “I suppose it is a good thing that I got you that holy water, after all.”

“I might be dead if you hadn’t,” he agreed casually, and Aziraphale’s expression when he turned back to him now appeared slightly alarmed. “Or at least in a lot of pain.”

“I… I can’t believe I almost didn’t give it to you.”

Crowley knew what that look meant, knew that Aziraphale was feeling the phantom of what he himself had felt when walking into that burning bookshop and demanding of himself why he hadn’t gotten there sooner. Why had he failed to save his best friend? “But you did,” he pointed out. “And that’s all that matters, right?”

He took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so,” he agreed, seemingly trying to assure himself of that fact. Still, his expression cleared slightly as he nodded and smiled at Crowley. “Shall we continue, then?”

There weren’t enough rooms in the flat to put off the inevitable for much longer, and then Crowley had no choice but to lead Aziraphale into his bedroom. The tension was palpable – at least in Crowley’s mind – as he watched the angel take in his surroundings and then without further ado walk forward to sit down on the bed. “Oh, this is quite comfy,” he declared.

Crowley swallowed thickly, trying not to think about the fact that Aziraphale was on _his_ bed. He did not succeed. “Thank you,” he muttered stiffly, looking away.

Aziraphale leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You know, if you’d rather-”

“No, it’s fine,” he cut him off hastily before he could suggest switching sleeping arrangements. “Bed’s all yours. Goodnight, angel.” He didn’t give him a chance to respond before he left the room and strode out to the living room. He sprawled out on the couch, suddenly feeling much more awake when he had when boarding the bus that evening.

* * *

 

Crowley never ended up falling asleep that night, but when he heard Aziraphale coming down the hall, he feigned stretching as he sat up. “Ready for the switch, then?” he asked around a faked yawn.

As Aziraphale had anticipated, the whole thing went off without a hitch and Heaven and Hell were none the wiser as to what had really transpired that day. Aziraphale’s bookshop had been restored, as had Crowley’s Bentley, and the two of them were free to return to their lives as normal. Except… Crowley wasn’t quite sure what normal was now. Before, normal had been doing his job as a demon and using the Arrangement to find as many excuses to spend time with Aziraphale as was possible. But the aversion of the Apocalypse and their estrangement from Heaven and Hell had rendered the Arrangement useless. There was no longer the need to help each other out with miracles and temptations, so… what now?

Originally, Crowley had thought that the two of them might be able to fall into a new routine with Aziraphale staying at his place while he worked on rebuilding his bookshop, but now that wasn’t necessary, either. Even though Aziraphale had made it clear the night before that he still wanted them both to be a part of each other’s lives, that didn’t clarify how _much_ of a part. Did that mean they could grab a bite to eat every few days, or was Aziraphale expecting months – even years – to pass between their outings? And how was Crowley to know? If he had things his way, he’d be talking to Aziraphale every day. But what if that was too much for him? How would Crowley know before it was too late, and he had already crossed the angel’s line of ‘too fast’?

He puzzled over this as he watched Aziraphale eat his slice of angel food cake at the Ritz that afternoon.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale broke the silence. “Now that we’re no longer under the watchful eyes of Heaven and Hell, there really is no reason we can’t spend more time together.”

Crowley perked up. “No, there’s not.” _Don’t suppose you’re going to specify how_ much _more, angel?_

“So… if we are going to be spending more time together, might I make one request?”

More boundaries, of course. He couldn’t say that he was surprised. At least it would give him _something_ to go off of, though. “Name it.”

“Could you be a bit more…” He took a moment to choose his words carefully. “…clear of your intentions in the future?”

He frowned, feeling that he had suddenly lost track of the conversation. “Eh?”

“It’s just that when you invited me back to your place last night, I rather thought… well, that we would be sharing the bed. And I’m not trying to put any pressure on you to go too fast, I would just appreciate it if you could be more direct about your intentions to prevent such confusion in the future.”

Crowley stared at him dumbfounded for several seconds. “I… you…” He shook his head, trying to clear it. _Well, if he insists._ _“This_ is my intention.” He leaned forward and kissed him.

 

[1] The bus driver knew that he had stopped to pick up two men sitting at the bus stop and knew that they must have gotten on, but the matter of payment he was a little fuzzy on. But they must have paid because otherwise he would have stopped them. So, he didn’t think any more of it as he took off towards London. Some part of him thought he remembered his original destination being Oxford, but he must be thinking of a different route because it was definitely London that was his next stop.

[2] One of Crowley’s favorite perks to wearing sunglasses was that no one could quite tell where he was looking at any given time. Though, if he was being perfectly honest (which he rarely was), he’d been wearing sunglasses for centuries before he had become aware of this. It had been in Paris, 1793 that he had realized over dinner that he’d spent far too long staring at Azirphale in a way that was entirely undemonly. He had had a moment of embarrassment before Aziraphale commented on how much he clearly liked the crepes and brought on the realization that the angel had no idea where his attention had been directed. Naturally, this only led to further staring, but it at least saved him from embarrassment.

[3] He had acquired this particular bottle in 1971, hopeful that it might serve as an excuse to invite Aziraphale over to his place for a change. Of course, he had known what the angel’s answer would be, so he had put off doing so until tonight, making it the perfect wine for the occasion.

[4] _“Oh no, I’m quite certain that this food is intended for all guests,”_ he would insist, and then next thing Crowley knew he was helping Azirapahle escape the guards the king had sent after him for eating his personal feast.

[5] Given that Crowley had once gotten a camel through the eye of a needle just to prove a point, it really shouldn’t be that difficult for Aziraphale to believe that he could persuade a houseplant of any size to fit into a garbage disposal.


End file.
